The Secret of Life
by Kiki Cabou
Summary: Mulder and Doggett get smashed. Funny stories and male bonding ensue. Features Worried!Scully and EquallyWorried!Reyes.


TITLE: "THE SECRET OF LIFE."  
  
AUTHOR: Kiki Cabou  
  
FEEDBACK: Pretty please? R/R or write to kcabou@hotmail.com.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and no one except Cammy the barmaid. Sue not.  
  
CATEGORY: Story/Humor/MSR/DRR/maaaaaybe Doggett-MulderTorture if you squint.  
  
ARCHIVE: Go for it. Just let me know where.  
  
SPOILERS: You can assume that most of Season 9 was a go, because there's a reference to "4-D."  
  
RATING: I'll go with PG-13 or R for cursing and adult situations.  
  
SUMMARY: Mulder and Doggett get smashed. Funny stories and male bonding ensue. Features Worried!Scully and EquallyWorried!Reyes.  
  
NOTES: Takes place in my own twisted universe where Mulder, Doggett, Scully, and Reyes are all on the X-files. Scully was not pregnant. (That's why Doggett tells Mulder where he was born.) The song used in this is by Faith Hill or Gretchen Peters, depending on who you ask. It's called, "The Secret of Life."  
  
THANK YOU: To Agent Myers for creating Pete, John's younger brother. He's mentioned briefly. If you want to read more about Pete, read Agent Myers' fic, "Oh, Brother." To Traci, for being ultra cool. To everybody on FF.net (and elsewhere) for reviewing my stuff. As John would say, "I 'ppreciate it."  
  
"If the city's so good, then how come ain't nobody smilin'?" --- Toby Keith, "Works for Me," from his new CD, *UNLEASHED.*  
  
*** *** *** *** *** ***  
  
"THE SECRET OF LIFE"  
  
*** *** *** *** *** ***  
  
It was drizzling. Washington, D.C. was dark and smoky. The sky was a dull gray and spirits were low in the X-files office, even though it was Friday. All four agents were wrapping up some cases and getting work done, but no one really had any enthusiasm today. Scully and Reyes both looked like storm clouds.  
  
Reyes hated the gloom and consequently been crabby all day, sniping at Doggett. Doggett had been sniping back. Exhaustion and annoyance had made him look much older than 42.  
  
Mulder and Scully were having an outright fight. Scully was yelling that Mulder was slacking off on paperwork, again, and Mulder was shouting at her to shut up, because he had a headache. Scully's features curled up into a hellcat sneer and she raised a very thick file folder, ready to hit him over the head with it. She'd had enough of his "headache" bullshit. Fortunately, Reyes grabbed the file out of her little hands just in time.  
  
On top of being a crappy day, it had been an equally crappy week. Three chew-outs from Kersch. Per agent. An audit, which had not gone well. A private meeting between Monica and Brad Folmer, which had left the former stormy-eyed and upset for two days. Mountains of paperwork. And now, the fucking rain.  
  
To make matters worse, it was nearly nine o'clock when they finally finished up. Everyone was tired and cranky. They wanted to go home and get away from each other as quickly as possible. They all packed up their stuff and left together, silent and moody. Mulder locked the door, and the four of them walked down to the parking garage together. Nobody said a word.  
  
Scully and Reyes went one way, to their respective cars, and Mulder and Doggett both walked the other way, a little surprised. They couldn't remember having parked near each other that morning, but apparently they had. They walked along together.  
  
"So," Doggett said.  
  
"So," Mulder said.  
  
There was a long pause as Doggett debated a suggestion. They were guys. They were depressed and irritated. It just seemed like the right thing to do.  
  
"Listen, it's been such a shitty week. I'm --- I'ma ---" He sighed and started over. "You wanna get a drink?"  
  
"Where?"  
  
"I know a little place on K street. It's called the 'Starlite.'"  
  
Mulder hesitated. "Ehh . . . I don't know, Doggett. I mean, I'd better go over to Scully's later and say 'hi,' or, 'I'm sorry,' or something to that effect. Maybe pick up some Chunky Monkey for her as a peace offering."  
  
"You can do that after we go."  
  
"True. But if I'm going to apologize or hold intelligent conversation, I kind of need to be sober."  
  
Doggett laughed. They'd reached their cars. "Mulder, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not one to get shitfaced. Come on. It's a nice place. It's not expensive, and it's not too smoky."  
  
Mulder wavered for a minute, bobbing his head a little as he made his decision. "Okay," he said, finally. "But one drink. That's it."  
  
"One drink," Doggett agreed.  
  
***  
  
A little while later, they pulled into the Starlite's parking lot in Doggett's truck. Wrapping their overcoats around themselves tighter to fend off the chill and the damp outside, they walked in together. The cheerful neon sign over their heads cut the gloom of the night. Mulder cracked a small smile at the twinkly neon stars and the little neon UFO that blasted off next to the words in the sign.  
  
"Tasteful," he remarked.  
  
"Hush."  
  
They walked in and hung up their overcoats. It wasn't that crowded in here --- a few scattered groups of people at tables, and a nearly empty bar. Doggett held up a hand in greeting and Cammy, the barmaid, waved back with a smile. The two agents went up to the bar and sat down.  
  
"Evenin' John," she drawled. "Who's yer friend?"  
  
Cammy was a transplanted Texas native with dyed blond hair, big blue eyes, pouty lips, a knockout figure, and a pert little nose. A former stripper, she was now engaged, and proud as hell of it.  
  
"Just call me Mulder," Mulder said pleasantly.  
  
"Mulder! Ain't that a funny name for a child. Well, I've heard worse. Whut kin ah getcha, darlin'?" she asked, making sure Mulder noticed her very large engagement ring.  
  
"Uh, a martini. Three olives."  
  
"Cummin' up. John?"  
  
"Corona, please."  
  
Cammy patted the bar and took off to get the drinks. As soon as she was out of earshot, Mulder leaned into Doggett.  
  
"*John*?"  
  
"I come here occasionally," he said, with a shrug. "But I really don't drink. Not usually. Only reason she remembers me is 'cause I came in last week. Nice girl, Cammy. She's just, . . . well, she's a bit flighty. 'S okay, though, not like you gotta be a rocket scientist to tend bar."  
  
Mulder snickered. Cammy came back with the drinks. They thanked her, clinked glass and bottle, and each took a swig.  
  
"Mm. That's nice," Mulder said.  
  
Doggett made a face. "I can't believe you like the taste. That's what, straight alcohol?"  
  
"Probably. But why not? I'm only having one, right? Might as well make it count."  
  
"True."  
  
They made small talk while Doggett finished his beer, but by then Mulder had gotten bored and had ordered another martini. So Doggett ordered another beer . . . to keep him company.  
  
Another round of beer, a round of rum, two rounds of tequila and an orange juice later, they were beyond buzzed and yakking like old friends, even though both were slurring their words.  
  
"Okay. Okay," Mulder said, laughing. "I have a question for you."  
  
"Mm."  
  
"What . . . " he stopped to think. "What, was the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you as a youth?" He waggled his eyebrows and took a sip of his orange juice, then called for a Mike's Hard Lemonade, just to try it.  
  
Doggett thought. His thoughts were fuzzy, so it was hard to sift through them, but finally he happened on one.  
  
"That would be . . . Shit. That would be when I got thrown out of Boy Scouts."  
  
"Holy fuck. *You* got thrown out of Boy Scouts? *You?* Mr. Straight-and- narrow?"  
  
"Hey, screw off. I wadn't no angel growin' up. When I was eight, I had a hell of a temper."  
  
"Ooh. Juicy. C'mon, give."  
  
Doggett sighed and began. "All right. Well, I was born in Georgia. Grew up in Democrat Hot Springs. Don't ask me what in the hell possessed the first people to name the town that. No one can explain it. Anyway. I was eight, and it was summertime, and my mamma figured I needed a break from doin' chores and stuff, so she thought it would be a great idea for me to join the Cub Scouts.  
  
She asked me, 'Johnny? What do you think? You'll learn to pitch a tent, and build a fire, and shoot stuff, and be a man.'  
  
And I was *all about* bein' a man, lemme tell 'ya. That just sounded like the greatest thing to me. 'Cuz, you know, at home, I did quote unquote 'girl' stuff. I had to help out a lot around the house, 'cuz daddy was gone all the time."  
  
"Where was he?"  
  
"On base, or on a mission, or something. He was a career marine. I didn't see much of him. Come to think of it, neither did mamma."  
  
"Love 'er and leave 'er type?"  
  
"I wouldn't know. He's dead. It's not like I can ask him. But one thing I knew about growing up was chores, 'cuz my older brothers were lazy and my younger brother Pete was six, so he was useless. He still is, come to think of it. Anyway, that left me, and mamma figured I needed a break.  
  
So I said, 'Okay. Bo goin'?' Bo was my best friend. We were thick as thieves, always running around together.  
  
So mamma said, 'Yeah,' and I said 'Fine,' and she signed me up.  
  
Okay. The first big activity, where I was, was this summer camp deal, where we got together with all the local boys and got put into age groups, and then we spent the rest of the summer with our new . . . troops. Whatever. So, shit flick number one is, they pick the troops by the campfire the first night, and Bo and I get separated. I cried, for like . . . half an hour, I think."  
  
Mulder started laughing, and so did Doggett.  
  
"I mean, come on! I was eight! Anyway. I tried to get over it. But the rest of the summer was hell. It was the first time I'd ever been away from home, and I wazziss short, skinny little hayseed. And on toppa everything else, I had a lisp. I mean, I was fucked from the get-go."  
  
Mulder clapped his hands and laughed. It wasn't hard for him to sympathize with John Doggett, or to imagine him at eight years old --- homesick, short, reed thin, big blue eyes, light brown hair, his ears sticking out way too far, and making a "th" noise every time he wanted to say "s."  
  
"So. Camp starts, and I'm in a troop of seven guys. This guy named Gus is our scoutmaster. I called him Mithta Guth. And we get into the cabin, put away our stuff, and we have to play the 'introduction' game, and do all this shit . . . anyway, long story short, this guy named Lyle, he decides he don't like me. Not at all. He was about a head taller than I was. And he was ten years old. You realize how impressive age is when you're young?"  
  
"Sure do."  
  
"A'right. Then you get it. Anyway. The activities start. Nature hike after fucking nature hike."  
  
Mulder laughed and spat into his lemonade.  
  
"Swimming. Couple of guys tried to drown me. Lanyards. Couldn't make 'em to save my life. To this day, I cringe when I see one. And when we would go on full-gear hikes and make camp, nobody knew what the fuck they were doing. Nobody. And Gus? Man. He was always off in the bushes doing something. Now that I think about it, he was probably gettin' high.  
  
Oh, and Mulder, you should've smelled our campsite. None of us knew to go at least forty feet away, or into the treeline, or something, to let fly. We had guys doin' it like, three feet from the campfire. Nobody knew any better! The entire campsite smelled like piss. It was terrible. We were sleeping on the ground, and bugs got in our sleeping bags, and . . . yech.  
  
And all the while, I've got no friends, because Lyle doesn't like me and everyone else in the troop doesn't want to mess with Lyle, so they avoid me like the plague, and Gus isn't doin' shit . . . So I wadn't exactly a team player. I complained. A lot. I was a very loud, very cranky little boy. I would pack up my stuff and not help anybody else with theirs. Burned Lyle's marshmallows, 'steada cookin' 'em. I got in a couple of fistfights with one guy because he called mamma 'nothin.'  
  
So. It's the last week. Four days left. I can't wait to go home. We're comin' back from our final camp/hike/shit thing, and we're walkin' across this narrow footbridge over the lake at camp, and suddenly Lyle stops. Gus is walkin' on ahead, and the others are followin' 'im, and Lyle whirls around on me and says . . .  
  
'You know what? I hope you learned your lesson, hayseed, and don't come back no more. You're just a skinny, short, dumb Okie.'"  
  
Mulder had stopped smiling and was looking intently at Doggett, who took a long sip of his orange juice. He set the glass down.  
  
"Now, my mamma, bless her, ain't no Rhodes scholar. She didn't have a lot of education growing up. But she has what they call country sense --- common sense. And she said to me once, 'You stand up for yehsef. Don't let nobody disrespect 'ya, 'cuz 'ya got too much goin' for 'ya.' And I paid attention.  
  
So I craned my neck, looked this bastard square in the eye, and I dropped my pack. And I said, "I might be short, and I might be thkinna, but I'll be goddamned before I'm from Oklahoma."  
  
Mulder cracked up.  
  
"Grabbed him by the lapels and chucked him in the lake, pack and all."  
  
Mulder and Cammy, who had been listening, both laughed even harder.  
  
"I was so pissed. And then Gus came runnin' and started yellin' at me, and I was feelin' brave, so I said the dirtiest words I knew. I said, 'Fuck you! You and your whole troop of faggotth can go to hell!' . . .  
  
And then I saw that Lyle was gettin' out of that lake. So I picked up my pack, put it on, and ran for my life. It was pretty funny-lookin'. I was three-eleven and goin' maybe two miles an hour. Got back into camp. I was all packed, so I grabbed my other bag from the cabin, ran out through the main gates and on down the road. Didn't stop until I reached my front door, and that was five miles away!"  
  
"Holy shit! Musta been some run," Mulder commented.  
  
"Yeah, well I was wheezin' pretty bad when I got there. Dropped my stuff in the dust and mamma came running out and grabbed me by the shoulders and asked what the hell happened, and I tried to tell her, but I just kept coughing. Turned out I'd got sick from something at camp. So she took me inside and put me to bed, and two days later, she got the letter."  
  
He started to giggle, and pretended that he was reading from a piece of paper.  
  
"Dear Ma'am. Congratulations. Your eight-year-old son has been thrown out of the Boy Scouts for an inability to work with others and disorderly conduct."  
  
By now, both he and Mulder laughing so hard the tears were running down their cheeks. They both took a few breaths to calm down.  
  
"And what did he grow into, ladies and gentlemen? Fucking F.B.I. That's an awesome story," Mulder said, still giggling. "You ever tell her what happened?"  
  
"Sure, I did. Soon as I could talk properly. She was s'damn proud of me she baked a cake."  
  
"Really?" he asked, laughing.  
  
"Really. And I wasn't the only one --- Bo didn't do so hot, either. When he got home, coupla days after me, he had boils all over his back from sleepin' in a dirty bag. His mamma was yellin' about how the scoutmaster was a moron and how the Boy Scouts was evil, and all that. It was damn funny. And I never had to go back."  
  
He swallowed the rest of his orange juice and asked for Mike's, too. "Okay," he said. "Your turn."  
  
"Mm," Mulder said. "Lessee. Humiliating shit that you don't know about from reading the X-files. That would be . . . That would be my senior prom. Quite possibly the worst night of my high school career, which was already sucking pretty hard."  
  
"A'right, go."  
  
"Okay. Now, you gotta remember, this was Massachusetts in the late seventies, early eighties. Long hair on guys, the whole pale blue suit thing . . . it was nasty. Anyway."  
  
"Why'd your high school career suck?"  
  
"Doggett, look at me. I was a geek. I was the captain of the Forensics team. You know, debate. People liked to push me in the halls or yell 'Fox' in my face just to see if they could piss me off. It usually worked. I stepped on a lot of feet and got into plenty of fights. I got good grades, though, and I had some friends, but most of the time, I was alone.  
  
It was spring. May, I think. . . . Yeah, it musta been, because I had hay fever. The prom was coming up, and just for once, I wanted to make a good showing. So I convinced this idiot cheerleader that I was the towel boy for the football team."  
  
Now it was Doggett's turn to laugh.  
  
"Told her I was in with all the big players. Actually, I'd just memorized their names from seeing a roster, but man, I pretended like I was buddies with all of them. And she believed me. So prom night rolls around, and we have our thing. It was actually at a nice venue. It was at the Castle Green Hotel in Chilmark. The grand ballroom. Catered dinner, dancing, what have you.  
  
I drove her there in my dad's car. I was wearing a powder-blue suit. My hair was doing that wavy Prince Valiant thing that everyone seemed to have going on back then. Looked terrible. And she . . . Hoo boy. Wearing this dress that showed off her cleavage. She really had honkers, and this hourglass figure . . . it was niiiice. So she shows up with me, and I figure, all I have to do is keep her away from the football players, or at least keep *myself* away from the football players, and I've got it made. I'll get my picture with her, show all my friends what I did, and ta-da! End of story."  
  
"Blew up in your face, didn't it?"  
  
"Oh, shit. Like an atomic bomb. First of all, everybody was drinking. Someone spiked the punch, somebody else brought bottles they'd sneaked out of their parents' closets, stuff like that. We were all getting hammered. So it's about 10 o'clock, and she sees Biff, or Fred, or whatever the hell the guy's name was. The quarter running back, something like that, for the team." Off Doggett's amused look he added, "So football's not my thing. So sue me. Anyway. She drags me along with her. We've already danced, had our picture taken. I'm tipsy, can't really figure out why, and Biff says to her . . .  
  
'What are you doing with *him?!*'  
  
And she says, 'What do you mean? I mean, you ought know him, Biff/Fred, he's your waterboy!'  
  
And he says, 'The hell he is! That's Fox Mulder! He's the fuckin' debate team captain! That dork I warned you about!'  
  
And things are getting out of hand already. There's a fist fight happening out on the dance floor. The cheerleader can't believe this is happening to *her,* and she's nervous, so she's laughing way too hard at Biff/Fred's . . . statement. Whatever. She laughs up a lung, and her boob pops out. I kid you not --- straight out of her dress.  
  
So she's struggling to fit the thing back in, and I'm watching her, you know, just kind of interested, and Biffred gets all defensive, and he calls me a Peeping Tom and I reply that I'll just keep her hot boobs in my photographic memory, for ever and ever, since the rest of her isn't worth a shit. So he decks me.  
  
I fall over, and I smash into this couple that's dancing near the three of us. One of my cufflinks gets caught on the girl's skirt and pulls it down with me. So now she's shrieking and pulling up her clothes and calling me a bastard and her date's ready to kick my ass and everybody's yelling . . . it's ridiculous.  
  
Fortunately, there's a distraction. Another fight on the floor. Gave me just enough time to get away. Anyway, the cheerleader went home with Biff."  
  
"Aw. Sorry about that."  
  
"Oh, wait. It gets better. I end up with a shiner, hiding and talking with the wallflowers 'till midnight, and the one standing next to me, she's this weird-looking girl with cat-eye glasses and dyed black hair, she says, 'Hey, me and my friends are getting a motel room. We're going to hang out and watch the sun rise. You wanna come?'  
  
So, having nothing better to do, I go, 'Yeah,' and we all take off.  
  
We end up at this cheap motel near the coast, with tiny rooms and a gated pool. And I'm drinking, and she's drinking, and her friends are in the room doing God knows what, and I ask if she wants to dance. So we do, right around the pool. And it's great, until she spins me around and get me dizzy. I throw up all over her, and on myself."  
  
Doggett was snickering, amused not only the story, but by the marvel of Mulder's photographic memory.  
  
"So what does she do? First she screams, then she grabs me and jumps in the pool to 'clean us off.' I don't know what the hell she was thinking. It was like, four in the morning, and the cold wind was blowing in from the sea. Fucking freezing. Finally, we get out. I'm soaking wet, dizzy, dirty, tired, and I just lay down next to the pool to catch a few winks. And the next thing I hear are police sirens."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yeah. Her so-called 'friends' were doing pot in their room. Like Cheech and Chong-style. That kind of pot. Somebody called the cops and they arrested everybody, and they found me by the pool. And I since could barely form a sentence, they assumed I was stoned too, and hauled my ass off to the city lock-up in a patrol car. What a disaster."  
  
"Shit, I'll say. What happened?"  
  
"Well, I got my one phone call. I called my mom at seven the next morning. Told her where I was, and where Dad's car was. She was soooo pissed off. Oh, wow. She marched into the lock-up, got me released and dragged me out by the ear in front of the other kids they'd arrested. And they all laughed at me. So, yeah, that was the most humiliating thing I can recall."  
  
"That ranks, Mulder, I'll tell 'ya that."  
  
"Yeah. But lucky for me I've found a woman who . . ."  
  
"Respects you for who you are?"  
  
"Nah. I've found a woman who doesn't know I was captain of the debate team," he said, dissolving into laughter.  
  
"And I've found one who doesn't think I'm a hayseed," Doggett replied, laughing too. "Hey. Can I ask you something?"  
  
"Shoot."  
  
"Are you two . . .?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Regularly?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," Mulder said with a grin. "I mean, we do plenty of other things, too, but wow. She's the best thing to happen to me in a long time. How about you and Monica? Anything going on?"  
  
Doggett just smiled.  
  
"Whoa. Is it serious?"  
  
"Could be. We got us a coupla winners, you and me."  
  
Mulder nodded, but their smiles faded. They both grew silent, depressed from the alcohol and the fact that they weren't with those two winners right now. Mulder checked his watch. 2:30 in the morning. Both men suddenly found their attention caught by a drunken woman, singing with the karaoke machine in the corner. They turned and looked at each other.  
  
"Agent Mulder?" Doggett asked.  
  
"The night would not be complete without singing Karaoke, Agent Doggett. I heartily agree."  
  
"Good. Less do it."  
  
They both wobbled their way to the Karaoke machine, just as the woman was finishing up a toneless rendition of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." There was some scattered applause from the gathered crowd.  
  
Mulder and Doggett discussed briefly what they wanted to do, and finally Doggett pressed their choice. The intro came on. Doggett started, his raspy voice breathy and ragged into the microphone.  
  
"Coupla guys . . . sittin' round drinkin',  
  
Down at the Starlite bar,  
  
One of them says, you know, I've been thinkin',  
  
Other one says, that won't get you tooooo far.  
  
This is your life . . . and welcome to it,  
  
It's just workin', and drinkin', and dreams.  
  
Ad on TV says just do it . . .  
  
Hell if I know what that meeeeeans."  
  
"Chorus!" he shouted. And he, Mulder, and everyone who knew the song, sang together:  
  
"The secret of life is a good cup of coffee,  
  
The secret of life is keep your eye on the ball.  
  
The secret of life is a beautiful woman,  
  
As Marilyn stares down from the barroom wall."  
  
They wound their way through Sam wiping the bar and then changed the next chorus to suit themselves.  
  
"The secret of life is to know when to wing it," Doggett sang. "The secret of life is in Monica's eyes."  
  
"The secret of life is to go down swingin'," Mulder answered. "The secret of life is in Scully's sighs!"  
  
"Sam looks up, from his Sunday paper,  
  
Says 'Boys, you're on the wrong track.  
  
The secret of life is there ain't no secret,  
  
And you don't get your money back."  
  
"The secret of life is the truth of a nation," Doggett made up. "The secret of life is keep your eye on the ball."  
  
"The secret of life is just a quotation," Mulder replied. "The secret of life ain't no secret at all!"  
  
They finished by making up the rest of the song, humming, and laughing, much to the delight of their small audience, and wobbled their way back to the bar, where they talked briefly.  
  
And then, exhausted, their combined energy gave out with a whoosh of breath, and they both hit rock bottom. Cammy knew "rock bottom." She saw it all the time. The glassy-eyed stare. The hand propping up the head to keep it from hitting the bar. The sunken cheeks and pale skin. The loooooong sigh.  
  
She sighed herself. After another long night, it was time to hustle the customers out and lock up. She gently took Doggett's hand to get his attention.  
  
"Honey, we're about to close. Zer someone I kin call?"  
  
"Uhhh . . . " The alcohol, or overdose thereof, was clearly starting to kick him in the head. Hard.  
  
"Shkully," Mulder slurred, and handed Cammy his wallet.  
  
Cammy opened his wallet and saw a phone number displayed prominently with a name above it: Dana Scully. She walked over to her register, rang up the entire night's charge on Mulder's credit card, and picked up the phone.  
  
***  
  
Scully had been pacing back and forth across her living room floor for about three hours now, occasionally staring out the window at the rain. She and Reyes had called each other twice. They were both going crazy.  
  
Scully couldn't find Mulder. This troubled her, because their lives, when caseless, were fairly orderly. They followed one of two basic routines. The first was they had a pretty good day, hung out together at one of their apartments, had dinner, made love if they felt like it, and went to sleep. The second only happened when Mulder was an asshole at the office. Then, the routine was that he showed up on her doorstep a.s.a.p. after work, with a puppy dog look, a tub of ice cream, two spoons, and a sincere apology. She'd been expecting him at half past nine, tonight.  
  
She'd been looking for him since 9:45.  
  
Horrible images of him, bloody and dying in an alley, were racing through her head. The answering machine had picked up at Mulder's place. She'd actually driven to his building to find out that was his car not there. She'd called all the local emergency rooms. Nothing. His cell phone, which she knew he kept in his coat pocket, just kept ringing and ringing. There had been no answer.  
  
Reyes couldn't find Doggett. He wasn't at home (she checked) and he also wasn't answering his cell phone. The picture of him on a respirator in the hospital flashed through her mind and she had to remind herself about fifteen times that that hadn't really happened. At least not in this dimension.  
  
Humming "Oh where, oh where, has my little dog gone? Oh where, oh where can he be?" she'd called the parking garage at the F.B.I. They told her that Doggett's car was gone, but Mulder's was still there.  
  
So she'd called Scully. And the two were completely freaked out. Their men were missing, under mysterious circumstances.  
  
At 2:47 in the morning, the phone at Scully's apartment rang once, and she picked up.  
  
"Hello?" she said nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.  
  
"Hi, is this, uh, Miss Dana Scully?"  
  
"Yes, it is. Who's this?"  
  
"Evenin', ma'am. My name's Cammy, and I tend bar at the Starlite. I got a gentleman down here name of Fox Mulder, says he knows you."  
  
"Oh, thank God. Yes, I know him. Where are you located?" she asked, grabbing a pen and paper.  
  
Cammy told her and finished by saying, "You know, he's a newcomer. He actually came in here with John."  
  
"John Doggett?" Scully asked.  
  
"Yes ma'am. You two know each other? I think he asked me to call a . . . Monica Reyez?" she finished, obviously reading from Doggett's wallet.  
  
"That's okay, Cammy. Don't bother. We'll both come to get them. I really appreciate you calling me. We were worried sick."  
  
"Oh, they're in good hands, ma'am, don't you worry none. But they'll be feelin' it tamarrah, though, I dare say. Ain't in their twenties no more."  
  
"No kidding. Thanks."  
  
"Shore thing, hun."  
  
Scully hung up and dialed Reyes immediately.  
  
***  
  
A few minutes later, Scully and Reyes pulled up in front of the Starlite. It was really raining hard, now, and Cammy was standing out front, locking up, and wearing her raincoat. Scully lowered her window.  
  
"Are you Cammy?" she asked.  
  
"Yep!"  
  
"Great. Where are Mr. Mulder and Mr. Doggett?"  
  
"Oh, they're round back. Said they didn't feel too good. They should be out in a minute."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Not a problem. 'Night," she said, walking off to her car.  
  
"Goodnight!" Reyes called.  
  
Scully sighed and stepped out into the pouring rain, holding an umbrella over her head. She turned back to Reyes.  
  
"Just stay here. I'll get them."  
  
"Okay. I'll watch Cammy, make sure she gets to her car."  
  
Scully nodded and wended her way down the alley to the back of the Starlite, where she found both Mulder and Doggett throwing up against the back wall of the place, and getting soaked, even through their overcoats. She waited until they were done, then stepped into their blurry lines of vision.  
  
"Hi, guys. Why don't you come with me? It's time to go home."  
  
Doggett and Mulder looked at each other and nodded. They'd done their guy thing, they'd barfed up their guy thing, and they were too tired to protest. They walked meekly next to Scully all the way back to the SUV. Reyes looked particularly relieved to see Doggett, even if he was a little worse for wear.  
  
***  
  
The best strategy, to the two sober members of their party, seemed to be camping out at Doggett's house. He had a bedroom upstairs and a fold-out sofa in the living room, so everybody would be able to sleep in a bed.  
  
They staggered into the house in the pouring rain, the men leaning on the women and mumbling. Everyone dumped their wet coats by the door as Scully shut it. Mulder and Doggett were just standing around blinking, water running off the rest of their clothing, while Reyes and Scully tried to figure out the sleeping arrangements.  
  
"Well, I guess you and John can take the upstairs bedroom, and we'll---" Scully didn't get any farther.  
  
"I'm not sleeping with John. . . . He can take the bed, and I'll take the sofa down here."  
  
She said her first sentence with such unnecessary force that Scully raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I wasn't about to force you to sleep *next to* your partner, Monica. And for the record, Mulder and I won't be sharing a bed, either. His breath stinks."  
  
Mulder stuck his tongue out at her, which made Doggett laugh, and Scully rolled her eyes. Reyes looked at the two drunks dripping on the floor and put her hands on her hips.  
  
"Well, what are we going to do with them?"  
  
"We could put them in the same bed and see how loud they scream when they wake up next to each other," Scully offered.  
  
Reyes started laughing. The guys barely noticed. Obviously it was back to plan A, bad breath, Reyes's denial, and all. The women began to help the men out of the rest of their clothes until both of them were only clad in their undershirts and boxers.  
  
They turned out the sofa bed, too, and Reyes helped Doggett up the stairs, then leaned over the upstairs balcony and tossed Scully a big shirt to sleep in. Scully changed for bed in the downstairs bathroom, and then she and Mulder climbed under the covers of the sofa bed together. He hit the pillow with a thump and she turned out the light. She gently shoved him so that he was facing away from her, and got her back up against his.  
  
Soon, Mulder's quiet voice came to her out of the darkness, hoarse with fatigue and liquor and bad karaoke. He was a lot less drunk, now. Apparently the vomiting had cleared his head.  
  
"Scully?" he whispered.  
  
"Yeah?" she whispered back.  
  
"We were only going to have one drink. And I was going to bring you Chunky Monkey ice cream and say I was sorry for being an ass. I really was."  
  
There was a kind of 'what have I done' desperation in his voice, but she resisted the urge to give a long-suffering sigh. He'd have enough to deal with in the morning, when the hangover would kick in.  
  
"I know," she murmured, turning over. She ran her fingers through his hair and got her arms around his waist. "I'm just glad you're okay. Go to sleep."  
  
He nestled beside her and within minutes, both of them were snoring.  
  
Upstairs, Reyes and Doggett were getting into bed, too. She was over her irritation with him, her worry replaced with a sense of peace, because he was here, not quite so intoxicated, and not dead in a gutter somewhere. Doggett wasn't even questioning that she was getting under the covers with him.  
  
"So," she said, getting comfortable against him, her back against his chest. "Why'd you do it?"  
  
He sighed. "You mean, get drunk? Well, the week was so bad, we were just lookin' for a little relief."  
  
"Did you find it?"  
  
"Naw. But I found something else."  
  
"Oh yeah?" she asked, turning around to face him. "What?"  
  
He looked deeply into her big brown eyes and gave her a little smile.  
  
"The secret of life."  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him, but then shrugged and turned over so they were flush with each other again. He caught her up in a gentle embrace and kissed the back of her neck. She smiled, pulling the covers over them both. And they slept.  
  
THE END  
  
***  
  
Here are the complete lyrics to Gretchen Peters slash Faith Hill's "The Secret of Life."  
  
Couple of guys sittin' around drinking  
  
Down at the Starlite Bar  
  
One of them says you know I've been thinking  
  
Other one says that won't get you too far  
  
He says this is your life and welcome to it  
  
It's just working and drinking and dreams,  
  
Ad on TV says just do it  
  
Hell if I know what that means  
  
The secret of life is a good cup of coffee,  
  
The secret of life is keep your eye on the ball,  
  
The secret of life is a beautiful woman  
  
As Marilyn stares down from the barroom wall.  
  
You and me, just a couple of zeros  
  
Just a couple of down and outs  
  
But movie stars and football heroes,  
  
What've they got to be unhappy about?  
  
Yeah, so he turns to the bartender,  
  
Sam, what do you think?  
  
What's the key that unlocks that door?  
  
Sam don't say nothin', just wipes off the bar,  
  
And he pours them a couple more . . .  
  
'Cause the secret of life is in Sam's martinis,  
  
The secret of life is in Marilyn's eyes,  
  
The secret of life is in Monday night football,  
  
Rolling Stones records, Mom's apple pie.  
  
Sam looks up from his Sunday paper,  
  
Says boys you're on the wrong track  
  
The secret of life is there ain't no secret,  
  
And you don't get your money back.  
  
Hey, the secret of life is getting' up early,  
  
The secret of life is stayin' up late,  
  
The secret of life is to try not to hurry,  
  
But don't wait, don't wait.  
  
The secret of life is a good cup of coffee,  
  
The secret of life is keep your eye on the ball,  
  
The secret of life is to find the right woman,  
  
The secret of life is nothin' at all, oh it's nothin' at all.  
  
The secret of life . . .  
  
Couple of guys sittin' around drinking  
  
Down at the Starlite Bar  
  
One of them says you know I've been thinking,  
  
Other one says that won't get you too far,  
  
That won't get you too far . . .  
  
Feedback of any sort is appreciated very much. :D 


End file.
